


Not A Miracle

by terrormusical



Category: Bandom, The Like
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrormusical/pseuds/terrormusical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school AU. Z needs a date for a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Miracle

“Z, you're going to need a date to go. No excuses.” Annie takes a long swig of her strawberry smoothie, keeping her eyes fized to Z's. “I'm usually all for your Miss Independent charade, but, I mean.” She shrugs to punctuate her sentence, as if it explains everything, ties up all the loose ends.  
“Charade?” Z squeaks. “It's not a charade. It's who I am. I don't need a significant other.”

“You do to go to this party, at least for one night.”

“Why do you care so much?” Z pulls her furry coat tighter around her petite body, pulling her collar up to shield her face from the chilly wind, at least a little. She ignores the annoyed stares from the people around them at the small sidewalk cafe, and glares at her friend.

“I'm not letting you embarrass yourself,” Annie answers simply, finishing off her smoothie and setting down the empty cup.

“That's not the real reason, is it?” Z narrows her eyes.

“I just want you to be happy, okay? Is that so fucking bad?” Annie's eyes are soft, molten, and Z smiles, reaching out to hold her hand. “Laena and I...we're so great. I want you to have someone, too.”

“One, I am happy. Two, I don't need someone to stay that way.” She sighs. “But I really want to go to this party. I mean.” She smiles, just thinking about it. “It's literally going to be the party of our senior year.”

“But you can't go,” Annie says slowly, eyes boring into Z's, trying to achieve direct access to her brain. She's just not getting it. “Not unless you have a date.” To prove her point, she digs around in her purse until she finds the envelope, pulling out the card and holding it up. She taps the Cupid Struck Couples header line, and it's in big, pink, curly letters that are just laughing in Z's face.

“So what?” Z shrugs. “I'll crash it. I'll be the badass single girl that showed up. I'll make it memorable.”

Annie practically whimpers, leaning forward in her seat. “Oh, god, Z, please don't. I'll find you someone. I'll pay them. Anything. Please don't do that.”

“I won't, I won't,” Z laughs. “Chill, Annie.” She stares across the street, eyes hollow, thinking, thinking whether or not she wants to let Annie help her, at this point, questioning whether or not she even wants to go. No, of course she wants to go. It's being thrown by the richest girl in school, Z doesn't even know her name, Paula? Polly? Whatever, all Z knows is that she invited almost the entire grade. If everyone (in theory) brought a date that didn't go to their school or that wasn't invited, there could be nearly six hundred people there. That was a semi-formal. No, that was a fucking prom. That was bigger than most weddings, a small concert. Jesus. Z found herself smiling.

“I'll find a date, okay?” She says softly, and Annie releases her hand, smiling back.

*

The next day, Z sits in the cafeteria, looking past Annie and Laena making googly eyes at each other, scoping out potential dates.

That guy is cute, she thinks, watching a blond boy with broad shoulders sit down at a table not too far away. The girl he's sitting next to isn't too bad herself. Tall, dark features, mysterious looking, almost. She frowns when the boy tucks an arm about her, and they kiss.

There's a girl crossing between the two tables, and she's drop-dead gorgeous. Then Z notices the long train of guys behind her, and figures she wouldn't stand a chance. She sighs.

Scene boy A, sitting just close enough that Z can conclude that he is attractive, turns suddenly to Scene boy B and taps his shoulder. They talk animatedly about something for a few seconds, making hand motions, flicking their hair off their foreheads, and Z thinks, hmm, best friends. If one says no, she can just ask the other. Then Scene boy B turns and whispers something in Scene boy A's ear, kisses his neck a little, and okay, best friends don't usually do that. Scene Boy A motions to the boy's bathroom, raising an eyebrow, and they're off, hand-in-hand.

“Annie,” Z groans, feeling suddenly remorseful when she realizes she's interrupted quite a passionate kiss between her two friends. Laena pulls away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and smiling into her lap shyly. Annie just narrows her eyes and waits for whatever Z has to say.

“Annie, literally everyone already has a date.”

“Well if you thought about that earlier,” Annie says, trying to sound angry, but she ends up smiling and giggling because Laena is holding her hand up, kissing her knuckles, then the inside of her wrist, and Z would pretend to throw up if it was any other day, but this time she's kind of just wishing she was them.

*

It's in homeroom that Z is staring out the windows when someone with a whole lot of nerve decides to stand up and block her view. She's trying to see past them, back outside, when she gives up and focuses her eyes in on the girl, and, well, she's actually really pretty.

Like, really, really pretty.

She tugs her pigtails and smiles, adjusting her bulky, crocheted sweater. She's wearing it over a pretty, lacy dress, and Z gazes in awe, wondering who would pair something so ugly and grandma-esque with something so pretty. She also notices, with a quirk on an eyebrow, that the thick-rimmed glasses the girl is wearing have no lenses.

“Who is that?” She taps Laena's shoulder.

“Tennessee Thomas.”

“Is she a transfer?”

Laena scoffs. “No, little miss observant. She's always been here.”

Z gets up and crosses the room, completely fascinated by this girl already, and by the time she's standing by Tennessee's desk, the girl is done talking and quietly doodling on her desk with a sparkly purple pencil, the kind Z remembers using in fifth grade. “Hey.”

The girl looks up, adjusting her hollow glasses on her nose, and smiles. “Hi, Z.”

“Oh,” Z says. “You know me.”

“I was in your class in second grade,” Tennessee says, shrugging, adding antennae to a tiny alien in the corner of her desk. “Of course I do.”

“Oh.” Z watches as she launches into a spaceship, beaming light down on a cow. “Hey, I was wondering.”

“Were you?” Tennessee asks distantly, and Z already likes this girl.

“Yeah, whether or not you had a date to the party.”

“What makes you think I even want to go, Elizabeth Berg?”

Z raises her eyebrows, smirking, and she sees that Tennessee is smiling smugly to herself, adding lights to the outside of her UFO, putting stars and planets and a distant rocket ship in the night sky. “Yes or no?”

“What makes you think I like girls?”

“Hey,” Z says, holding up her hands, backing away a bit, but the smug smile is still plastered on her face. “You're right. But you just looked, er,” she motions to Tennessee's outfit and drawing-in-progress, “open-minded enough, so.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty damn awesome,” she says pompously, grinning up at Z, not fully turning her head from her artwork. She crosses her Converse-clad ankles.

“So you'll go?” Z asks, hating the desperation so obvious in her voice.

“Let me ask you this,” Tennessee says, exchanging her pencil for a permanent marker and leaning in toward Z's knee, lifting the hem of her skirt just enough to make Z jump. “Do you want me as your date so you can get in?” She glances up at Z's face, uncapping the marker and dragging the felt tip against Z's thigh. “Or do you want me as your date because you want me?”

“The former,” Z says honestly after a moment of contemplation.

“Fair enough,” Tennessee shrugs, running a thumb over whatever she created on Z's thigh, and turns back to her drawing. Z guesses that's the end of the conversation, mutters a thank you, and crosses the room to get back to her desk.

She doesn't actually look at her thigh until she sit back down, and she looks down to see the phrase 'motherfucking cunt lover!' staring back at her in lovely, curly text, with Tennessee's phone number printed below it neatly. She shakes her head, looking up in hopes of catching Tennessee's gaze from across the room. When she does, all she receives is a wink, and she thinks she might see the beginning of a grin as she turns back to her drawing. But maybe she imagined it.

*

Later that night Z dials Tennessee's number, slowly, checking three times to make sure it matches the one on the her thigh before she hits the little green button on her cell phone.

It rings once, and Tennessee picks up.

“Hey, I've been waiting by my phone crying. I was about to kill myself, why so late?”

There's no sarcasm detectable in Tennessee's voice, and if Z didn't know her well enough, she might have thought she was completely serious.

“Sorry,” Z laughs. “Motherfucking cunt lover, huh?”

“Oh, baby, you kiss you mother with that mouth?” Tennessee smiles into the phone, her mouth close to the receiver, her voice coming out a low purr.

“Speaking of my mother,” Z sighs shakily, “I had some explaining to do to her.”

“Yep, I'm the girl your parents warned you about.” Tennessee grins. “And now I'm your date to Polly Hugh's party. Imagine that.”

“Yeah. Imagine that. Hey, you should wear a tux.”

“What makes you think I'm the man in this relationship?”

“I figured you'd be more likely to have a fucking tuxedo.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't,” Tennessee says airily, boredom lacing her voice.

“So, it's on Saturday. That's in three days.”

“Yeah, it is. Do you really want me to wear that tux? I've been waiting for an excuse...”

Z laughs into the receiver. “Sure. Wear whatever you're comfortable in.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“That's weird,” Z says, scrunching her nose. “Don't make that comparison.”

“Yes, mother,” Tennessee says militantly. “I'll see you tomorrow, Z. Pick out something pretty. Try throwing it on the floor, too. Make sure it looks good down there.”

“Why?”

“In case we end up fucking afterward and I have to rip it off of you like a wild animal.”

Z opens and closes her mouth like a fish a few times, speechless. What would one say to that? “Um,” she stutters, cut off when Tennessee laughs once, sharply, and hangs up.

Okay, then.

*

“I don't want to,” Laena shouts over the barrier of the dressing room door. “It's hideous.”

“You thought it was pretty when it was on the hanger,” Annie says, smiling as Laena whines. “I'm sure you look gorgeous, baby.”

The pet name must have done it, because Z has to sidestep so that Laena can open the door and step out into the store. She's wearing a short pink dress, all fluffy tulle from the waist down. Annie gasps and steps forward as Laena smiles shyly, and they kiss, Annie whispering in her ear and adjusting her grip on her girlfriend's waist.

Z stepped back, out of the way, and cleared her throat loud enough for them to remember she was standing right there.

“Sorry,” Laena sighed. “I'm gonna take this off, and we'll find you something gorgeous.”

She disappeared back into the tiny dressing room, and Annie leaned in toward Z. “Any luck with the date situation?”

“Actually, yeah.”

Annie laughed happily, hugging Z around the waist. “Who? Girl? Guy? Probably a girl, right? Just admit it, Z, you're totally a lesbian.”

“Yes, a girl,” Z rolled her eyes. “Tennessee Thomas.”

Annie's face fell. “Tennessee Thomas?”

“What's wrong?”

Annie shrugged. “She's just...weird.”

“I like weird,” Z says nonchalantly, pulling the hem of her thin, clingy t-shirt. “I'm weird. It'll work out.”

“You're not that weird,” Annie says, deadpans, actually, and Z knows she means to say so much more. She looks worried, almost wary.

“Stop that,” Z says, waving her hand in dismissal and stepping back out into the main room of the boutique. “I'm gonna start looking around.”

*

“Do you want me to come pick you up?” Tennessee asks earnestly. “I mean, I'm wearing the tux, so it only seems fitting.”

“Yeah, you can do that.” The phone is nestled uncomfortably between her shoulder and her cheek as she slowly swipes the brush over her toenails, staining them bright red.

“You did say you're wearing a red tie, right?” Z asks.

“Yep. Red, white, and black. Like the White Stripes. They're pretty badass.”

“Yeah, chick drummer. That's hot.”

“I'm a drummer, you know.”

“No way.” Z smiled and paused, the brush suspended over her toenail.

“Way,” Tennessee said, maybe a little proudly. “You seem more like the singing type. We can be a band with only vocals and drums. Talk about innovative.”

Z scoffs. “That wouldn't be necessary,” then she swallows, resuming her painting, and says, “I play guitar.”

Tennessee doesn't answer for a few seconds, then says, “It seems like there's a lot we have to learn about each other.” She sounds far away.

“Yeah,” Z agrees, bites her lip.

*

Tennessee pulls up an hour and a half later in her Jeep Wrangler, top down, honking and waving like a total idiot.

“Is that your date, honey?” Z's father asks, peering over his newspaper to stare out the window. His eyes narrow in concern as he adjusts his glasses, and Z just rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, Daddy, she's nice, trust me. Gotta go.”

Her mother slaps a disposable camera into her hand as she pushes her out the front door, mumbling about taking lots of pictures, and Z is asking her if she's serious and tripping over her four-inch stilettos.

She nears the car and Tennessee has a strange, foreign look in her eyes as she watches Z fumble and pull the hem of her little black dress down, something like fondness. “You look really, really pretty,” she says, and Z tries to ignore the storm of butterflies hitting the walls of her stomach.

“What? No wolf-whistle? No rude, sexist comment?” Z asks. She gives Tennessee a once over, eyes falling from the cat-eye glasses (fake) to the red tie (her father's), down to the Converse shoes (typical). “Nice tux, by the way.”

“Hey,” she begins defensively, starting the car. “I can be nice. Sometimes. I'm not always bitter.” She pulls out into the road, tiny reddish tendrils of hair flying everywhere in the sudden wind, and adds, “And thanks.”

*

Annie and Laena disappeared into a bedroom a while ago, so Z and Tennessee are left to stand in the corner, arms crossed, watching the party in full swing. Everyone's dancing with their date, holding up their red cups, smiling and laughing, having what everyone else might consider to be a good time.

“So,” Z says, looking over at Tennessee. “This party kind of sucks.”

“Not the party,” Tennessee says, shaking her head remorsefully. “The music. You can't dance to this shit. It's the same five words over and over again.”

Z nods, sighing, then says, “Hey. Wait.” She opens her purse, digging around for a bit before her fingers hit the hard, plastic corner of a CD case, and she smiles. “C'mon,” she grins. “Let's blow this popsicle stand.”

Tennessee tosses her head back, laughs, and says, “I can't believe you just said that.”

*

“So you actually carry around a CD in your purse?” Tennessee laughs as Z twirls under her arm, clasping their hands together once more, red nails against pale skin.

“You never know when you'll need good music,” Z shouts over the music blasting from the stereo in Tennessee's Jeep, her bare feet pounding against the pavement of the grocery store parking lot as they have their own dance under the buzzing light of the billboard. “And Phoenix is amazing.”

“That they are.” Tennessee tosses her hair out of her face, giddy and dizzy, mesmerized by the way the terrible light somehow still catches all the microscopic sparkles in Z's red lip gloss, the way her big, brown eyes seem to reflect it like mirrors, and her heart beats a little faster.

“This is the best part,” Z warns, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, and both sing along at the tops of their lungs as the chorus kicks in.

“Farewell, well, well, well, well, well, well 'til you know me well,” they scream, “girlfriend,” Their eyes meet as the note descends and they stop dancing, clasped hands dropping, and Z swallows, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the concentrated look in Tennessee's eyes.

“Do I know you well?” Tennessee asks, speaking for both of them.

“Yeah,” Z answers, a little too eagerly, and she immediately mutes her bright smile. “Well. I mean, kind of. My name is Elizabath Berg, but I hate it. I'm eighteen. My best friends are Annie Monroe and Laena Geronimo, I'm in Mr. Ross's homeroom, I love music,” her voice fades away, and she clears her throat. “There's not much else to tell.”

Tennessee looks less than sated, and she rolls her eyes. “But what about your shoe size?”  
She starts pacing, making frantic hand motions, her eyes wide and slightly crazed. “Whether or not you have pets? Your favorite book? How you eat your eggs? Your—”

“Seven and a half, a fish named Freddy, Dear Alice, and scrambled,” Z lists, smiling.

Tennessee stops pacing, half-laughs, but it's in frustration. “I mean I...” Her shoulders slump. “I want to know you well.” Her eyes are saying the unspoken, finishing the lyric: I want to be your girlfriend.

“Same,” Z says, unable to stop the grin from spreading over her face as the songs picks up again, flooding between them. The word 'girlfriend' swirls around them in big, bright letters, making the air shimmer.

The last song on the CD takes them all the way back to Z's house, and it's still playing in the background when Tennessee kisses Z on her doorstep, their lips fitting together flawlessly, hands on each other's hips, unsure of where else to land.

“Cunt lover,” Tennessee whispers against Z's lips, and the other girl smiles, taking a step back.

“You're so weird,” Z says, no traces of accusation in her voice, just playfulness and warmth in her gaze. Tennessee smirks.

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” Z shrugs, then leans in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The song they dance to in the parking lot is [Girlfriend](http://www.mediafire.com/?mgzt441yzna) by Phoenix, and the song that plays on the drive home/during their kiss is [Armistice](http://www.mediafire.com/?ugniornjq5z), also by Phoneix. So yeah, enjoy those. Thanks for reading. (:


End file.
